the singing will never be done
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: There is so much blood in his mouth, and Draco chokes on it. :: That lesson with Buckbeak goes a little differently.


Written for QL, Round 7, Puddlemere United, Chaser 2: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Write about an encounter with a wild animal, beast, creature, etc.

Also Hogwarts' Writing Club: Assorted Appreciation - 19: Johann - Write about someone who is afraid of being forgotten, Disney Challenge - Theme 1: 1. Patience - write about the consequences of being impatient, Book Club - Adam: (character) Draco Malfoy, (plot point) insulting someone, (word) jerk, (emotion) fear, Showtime - 34: The Adam's Administration: (plot point) insulting someone,

Amber's Attic - 17: "The fact that you're alive is a miracle.", Liza's Loves - 7: Subrace - Dark Elf (drow) - Write about a character from a 'dark' family; Scamander's Case - 3: (word) danger.

Northern Funfair: Photo Booth - Beauty and the Beast: Castle background: (setting) Hogwarts, Eastern Funfair: Gnome Throwing - Draco Malfoy, Southern Funfair: Guess The Name: Dobby - Dialogue: "I just want you to know everything is going to be okay.".

_Word count:_ 3000

* * *

_**the singing will never be done**_

Draco hates the Forbidden Forest. He hates forests in general, with their crunchy sticks and their mud that clings to his shoes, but the Forbidden Forest has a special place in his heart as 'most hated forest that definitely shouldn't exist'. Draco hasn't been back since that disastrous detention in his first year, of course, but he hasn't forgotten, and just stepping foot in those Merlin forsaken woods is enough to have Draco on edge, wondering what type of horrible danger will step through the trees this time.

He'd thought Hogwarts wise enough to keep their Care of Magical Creatures classes inside the school, _where they were supposed to take place _(Draco had asked), but of course, they had to get the oafish brute to teach this class, and _of course,_ said oafish brute decided they should do their lessons in the _Forbidden Forest._

Because him taking students into that Forest had worked _so well_ last time.

Draco scoffs and crosses his arms, tuning the groundskeeper out as he caters to Potter's wishes again, sending him flying on one of his beasts.

Briefly, Draco pictures the Gryffindor slipping off and falling to his death. The daydream makes him smirk.

Surely people would realize that this _simpleton_ shouldn't be put in charge of children's educations if their precious savior got hurt in the process.

Alas, no such thing happens. Potter returns, disgustingly cheery and red-cheeked. He dismounts the Hippogriff with the biggest grin Draco's ever seen on his face. It lingers as he returns to his friends.

It's disgusting, really.

Draco sneers and looks away. His Housemates, at least, look suitably unimpressed. If only they didn't have to share classes with those foolhardy Gryffindors, maybe then they'd be able to get something actually done.

But Draco really shouldn't be surprised. His father's right — the school has been going down the drain since Dumbledore became its Headmaster.

The oaf calls for another volunteer, and Draco steps forward with a put-upon sigh. He's pushed toward the Hippogriff — Buckbeak, really? What kind of name is that? If Draco had a Hippogriff, he'd give it a much better name, something majestic and that'd strike fear… not _Buckbeak._

He sneers again, disdainful. "You're not that scary, are you, you big brute?"

It happens so fast, Draco barely has time to react.

The beast rears back, slashing its talons forward. Draco screams as he scrambles backward.

His heart thunders in his chest. He feels faint. The oaf is struggling to get his beast back under control as Draco crawls away, but other than that the class is eerily silent.

Draco doesn't feel it at first. He raises his head to look at his classmates — Pansy, in particular, had been standing closest to him, and she's always great to mock idiots with — but the world blurs a little, and Draco has to blink rapidly to even be able to look at her.

He opens his mouth, and then, he _tastes_ it.

Copper, warm and thick and hard to swallow around. It's almost like he bit his tongue, and yet nothing like it at all.

There is so much blood in his mouth, and Draco chokes on it.

And then the pain hits. It's sharp and white-hot, and Draco's hands jerk up to his throat, clutching at the torn flesh like they can hold it together.

They grow sticky and wet way too quickly, and distantly, Draco realizes he should probably be panicking about this.

All he can do though, is raise his eyes to his classmates again, mouthing a desperate 'Help me' before he passes out.

(He doesn't faint. Malfoys don't _faint.)_

.

There is a second, right before Draco actually wakes up, where he feels good, where he doesn't remember what happened.

And then he moves and agony flares in his throat, spreading all the way down his chest and back. To say his throat hurts would be the worst euphemism Draco's ever heard of — Draco hadn't even known pain that bad could exist.

He keeps his eyes shut and breathes as slowly and steadily as he can, willing himself to stay still while the pain subsides.

Slowly, the world comes into better focus, and Draco starts to remember. Panic makes his blood run cold, and his fingers jerk on the bed for the want to check on his throat. The memory of his earlier agony stills them though, and Draco just exhales.

Previous trips to the Infirmary — for this must be where he is — have taught him not to open his eyes immediately lest he be blinded, and so Draco keeps them closed a little longer.

He overhears voices in the distance, speaking.

They're familiar, and Draco frowns as he tries to parse them out.

It takes him but a few seconds to recognize his parents' voices.

His father's voice echoes loudly around the room, almost erasing Madam Pomfrey's as she tells him to keep it down because Draco's resting. "The fact that he's alive is a miracle," she says sternly, and Draco swallows painfully. "He needs peace and quiet to recuperate."

Draco's chest feels uncomfortably tight. He keeps listening.

Lucius hisses. When he speaks again, he's less loud but still as angry. "How could you even let this happen?" he asks, accusatory.

Dumbledore's maddeningly even voice answers him, relating the events passively. He dares to try to paint this as an 'accident', as something that is Draco's fault, rather than the Headmaster's precious groundskeeper's.

He clenches his hands into fists, and hears a gasp.

"Draco?" The voice is impossibly soft, and Draco recognizes it instantly. "Can you hear me?"

Draco doesn't know how he didn't feel it before, but his mother's hand is in his, holding it tightly.

"Mum?" he tries to say, but the word dies in his throat. All that comes out of his mouth is a breathless kind of sound.

For a second, Draco is actually relieved. He hasn't called his mother 'mum' since he was five and had a nightmare about the werewolf stories he'd overheard his father tell, and the idea that _Dumbledore_ of all people caught him in such a vulnerable state makes him sick.

He blinks his eyes open and licks his dry lips before trying again.

"Mother?" he asks as his vision slowly focuses on her familiar face.

But once again, all that comes out of his mouth is a breathless type of whisper, barely a sound at all.

Draco feels cold as he tries again, and again.

"Draco, dear, stop," Narcissa says, squeezing his hand as tightly as she can. _"Stop. _You're hurting yourself._" _

She's right. Already, his throat is burning painfully.

Draco's mouth falls shut with a click, and he can't help but bitterly think that it's the most sound that's come out of it so far.

His mother hands him a cup filled with blessedly cool water. Swallowing hurts, but the cold soothes the burning heat in his throat. The potion that follows is vile, but it sands down the edges of his pain until Draco feels like he can think again — even if it's a floating kind of feeling.

"What happened?" he tries to say.

This time, he's aware enough to catch the concerned look his parents exchange when all that comes out of his lips is soundless air.

"What happened?" he repeats, his clutching at his mother's hand the only sign of distress he allows himself.

Trying to speak louder only leads to more pain and an almost inaudible rasp slipping past his lips before he has to stop.

His mother spins to face the nurse, the lines on her face drawn with thunderous rage.

"You said he'd be fine," she accuses. "Does this look fine to you?"

Dumbledore stays silent as he steps away to let Madam Pomfrey come closer.

"Well?" Lucius asks, sneering as he crosses his arms.

"It's probably temporary." Dumbledore tries to placate. "Your son sustained a grievous injury. He needs time to heal."

But Draco can see from Madam Pomfrey's face, which only grows graver with each diagnosis spell she casts, that things aren't quite that simple.

Clearly, his parents see it too. His father's face sets in an expression Draco's never seen before — a weird mix of helplessness and rage that makes Draco look away.

His mother looks murderous, though her lips ease into a kinder smile when she catches Draco looking at her.

"I just want you to know everything is going to be okay," she tells him softly. "No matter what happens next."

But how can that be, Draco finds himself thinking as the nurse relays her findings, when he might very well never speak again?

What kind of wizard can he even be if he can't speak?

He feels so stunned that hanging on to consciousness as Madam Pomfrey moves to telling them about possible treatments takes all his energy.

He can't even really hear anything she's saying. It all sounds like static.

Draco wants to cry, or scream — but what good would these things even do when his _voice_ is gone?

Besides, he refuses to give Dumbledore the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. That old, _useless_ man will never see him anything but his best.

So Draco squeezes his mother's hand again, and holds on for dear life, hoping she'll keep her promise somehow.

_Everything will be okay, _she'd said.

She's never lied to him before, so it has to be true.

It has to be.

.

Draco is the one who insists on staying at Hogwarts even though his parents try for homeschooling.

He has to admit that the perspective of getting taught _actual_ magic from his parents, rather than the neutered spells Hogwarts thinks he should know, is tempting.

Very tempting.

But the thought of being stuck inside Malfoy Manor makes him break out in cold sweat. He loves his home, really, he does, but he doesn't want to stay there all his life, missing out on everything that does happen at Hogwarts.

(Honestly, he has a bet that Professor Lupin is going to try to kill Potter before the year ends, and he'd love to see that.

Also, Pansy would never give him his earnings if he missed it.)

So he goes to his parents, and they bring him back from his private wing at St Mungo's and to the Headmaster's office.

Draco has never actually been there before, and he hates it instantly. It's cluttered and messy, filled with spinning and shimmering instruments that don't actually seem to be doing anything.

The only redeeming feature is the Phoenix, but it is sadly sleeping.

McGonagall and Snape are also there, the first eyeing him with a pity he can't stand, and the second staring with pursed lips like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Draco sits down on a too plush chair, and tries very hard not to sink too much into it. It's red and gold, because of course it is, and Draco hates it very much.

His parents opt to keep standing. They place themselves behind him, each placing a supportive hand on his shoulders.

Draco wishes he'd known that was an option, but standing up now would be rude, so he grinds his teeth and clenches his fingers around the blank book his parents have bought for him.

He hates that he has to use it, but unfortunately he still hasn't been cleared to cast spells — not that he knows any he could use here.

Yet.

Dumbledore is very nice about it, but he still manages to voice all the insecure thoughts inside Draco's head — how difficult keeping up with his peers will be, and how the teachers will have to adjust too, and really, wouldn't it be better for Draco if he just took the rest of the year off?

It makes Draco shake with anger, and judging on the tightening holds on his shoulders, he's not the only one this enrages.

(It's almost funny, really. Part of him actually _wants_ Dumbledore to keep talking, because if he does, Narcissa will surely snap.

Greatest wizard of his generation or not, Draco knows better than to bet against his mother, and seeing her wipe the floor with that bearded fool would be _so rewarding.) _

But daydreaming aside, just because Draco can't currently speak doesn't mean his voice can't be heard.

_I can still do magic_, he writes, underlining it several times, until his quill breaks through the paper.

_I don't need my voice._

The past few days spent at St Mungo's might have been boring, but Draco had also spent them researching what he could do without his voice.

He'd remembered his mother casting silently before, and the Healers had only been too happy to help.

Apparently, his audience's minds are still sharp enough that they catch on his plan.

"Silent casting is rather advanced for his age," McGonagall interjects. She looks concerned still, but not quite as pitying. Draco thinks he's impressed her, and he grins inwardly.

Snape, however, just stands beside her, silent. Draco can't help but feel a little betrayed. He'd known Snape wasn't a great Head of House, but he'd expected more support.

"We don't usually start teaching it until our students have passed their OWLs, as you can both no doubt recall," Dumbledore continues. "It is more taxing, and we prefer our students to have a steady foundation on which they can rely."

"Of course," Draco hears his mother reply. He can't see her face, but he can picture her sharp smile all too well. "And I am sure you and your teachers will be able to make all the… arrangements necessary so that our son can learn all that he should have, had it not been for your gross negligence. Isn't that right, Lucius?"

"Quite," Lucius states with a drawl. "The board of governors has been so very shocked to hear of what happened to my son. I'm sure they'd approve of any necessary changes to your curriculum."

Dumbledore, Draco is blessed to see, looks like he's swallowed one of his precious lemon drops.

"I see," Dumbledore replies. "Well, if you're sure, then we will of course do our best to ensure that young Mr. Malfoy gets the best education he possibly could."

Narcissa pats her son's shoulder. "Good."

_I can do it, _Draco writes, tapping the words with his quill.

When he twists around to look at them, his parents are smiling.

"Of course you can, dear," his mother says. Her eyes, which had been soft while she looked at him, set into something merciless as she looks at the gathered teachers. "He can do it. "

Draco straightens in his seat, unable to stop himself from grinning smugly. McGonagall and Snape look like they're already considering how to rework their classes — not that Potions should require much reworking at all, since they barely ever even get to use their wands.

They've won, he just knows it.

"Alright, that's settled then," Lucius states. He clasps his hands. "Now, let's talk about what you will do about that Hippogriff and your criminally incompetent teacher."

Draco doesn't even bother to hide his smirk as he sits back to enjoy the show.

.

For the most part, his life at Hogwarts doesn't change much. Zabini jokes that losing his voice actually made Draco more tolerable, to which Draco replies with a stinging hex that doesn't completely fail.

It's be a greater success if that wasn't one of the three spells Draco is so far able to semi-reliably cast, but at least it's a start.

It's proof that he can do this, even if most of the teachers seem to doubt him still.

Seriously, if Draco gets assigned a single more essay on the theory behind silent casting to work on while his classmates are actually casting, he might just murder someone.

But there is progress. Not with his voice, which Draco is reluctantly coming to admit might be truly lost forever, but with ways to express himself.

There are two spells Snape found for him — or well, ambushed him with one day after class.

The first lets him write his thoughts in the air in fiery letters. It's helpful in class, not so much with his friends — and the fiery aspect, while cool, is a serious flaw in the design when one is, say, working in the Library and has to ask for a book from an overprotective Librarian.

The second spell is… better, for all that it is more taxing. It lets him project a voice saying what he wants it to say. Right now, the spell's voice doesn't exactly sound organic, but one day, Draco hopes, it'll be his own voice.

It isn't perfect, of course. Half the school seems to pity him, which is intolerable — even if Draco can definitely use that to his own advantage — while the other half seems to believe he's brought it all upon himself, which is even worse, and makes him flush hot with shame at the thought.

It isn't _his_ fault he lost his voice. It was that _beast's, _who attacked him and almost killed him when all Draco had done was make _one_ single remark.

… So _maybe_ he could have picked his words more carefully. That still doesn't make it his fault.

The teachers were supposed to keep him _safe, _not just stand there while he bled out and push him to the sidelines after the fact.

"So they're bad at their job," Pansy tells her with an unimpressed drawl when Draco ends up telling her this. "This surprises you why?"

Despite himself, Draco lets out an amused huff of laughter. It's silent, as is everything he does these days, but Draco is growing used to it.

He still hates it, really, hates that he _still_ can't help but hope he'll be able to _speak_ the next time he opens his mouth — but he is growing used to it.

It's his new normal. He's alive to _have_ a new normal.

He almost wasn't.

That has to mean something.


End file.
